Did you sing that horrible song when you read the title? A small, malicious part of me hopes so. >:-) Oh! I didn’t mean anything Bon Jovi, although this is a musical entry, I must say. Anyway, allow me to serenade you while we go at it, here.

The Slippery When Wet Blog Hopbegins today, and I am ill-prepared. Or maybe too prepared. Anyway, I have a blog post I penned a while back, which seemed too risqué to send to other places as a guest blog, but is just right tonight after realizing I have two hours to get this sweetheart posted. Enter: The Art of Writing Male/Male Anal.

The Art of Writing M/M Anal

This won’t be comprehensive, but how about the basics for virgin author’s everywhere who want to delve into the great “Do Not Enter?” Sometimes it’s not just an exit, ladies and gentleman, but there are a couple of things we’re going to need in order to get this bird off the ground. So wave your magic pen and produce these magical items:

1. Condom. This baby gets top billing for most smut peddlers the world over. Publishing houses, generally speaking, are pretty firm on the “No Creampie” rule. That’s not to say you can’t sneak them in once in a while, especially in short stories which are more likely to fall into the erotica without romance or stupid people having risky sex categories (read: one seat closer to the almighty porn throne). I wrote a short for Shane Allison’s Bad Boy anthology with Cleis Press (which should be out soon, actually) and had a bank robber getting it on with a hostage right after the hold up. Needless to say, there were no condoms available at the hideout in the woods. Obviously plot factors into your safe sex decision.

Also, if your MCs are in a serious, committed relationship, and you’ve laid that on the line—maybe even with a side note on VD testing (archaic term that is so Pretty in Pink it makes me smile–no, wait, I think that was Sixteen Candles)—you can go ahead and get really nasty. But—general rule of thumb—have a rubber in someone’s pocket/drawer/under the seat of their car/in the little booze container around their faithful St. Barnard’s neck. Whatever. Non-human exceptions exist as well. Aliens don’t carry AIDS and all you need is a rabies shot to get it on with a wolf shifter.

2. Lube. This runs alongside the condom. For one, rubbers—even if they say lubricated—are going to make things, shall we say, rougher, than skin on skin. Also, chicks have the built-in lube. That’s right, we can make our own, so in vaginal sex no one gets bent out of shape if a bottle of K-Y isn’t sitting on your fictional dresser. But M/M? The human ass needs a helping hand (full of spit or jelly). Spit isn’t the best, but it’s always available unless they are trapped in the Sahara, in which case, I doubt they’re feeling too amorous.

3. A little foreplay. Even if you’ve got the rubber on your big burly top, he’s squirted an entire bottle of love-lotion on his long-stocking, and his pretty boyfriend is face-down-ass-up, it isn’t nice to just stick it in without a little preamble. Rimming works, but if your guys aren’t so inclined, a gradual finger work-up is really the kinder, gentler thing to do than insta-penetration.

4. Mention of the prostate. No, it isn’t a prostrate like your mother-in-law calls it. That means lying down with your face smashed into a pillow, which may well be the case with your sexy little bottom who happens to be getting his prostate hammered by his bear. Not necessarily something you MUST mention, but seems to be a huge factor in the pleasure experience for the guy getting fucked. I don’t know. I don’t have one myself, and frankly I feel robbed. I’m going to go write my congressman right now.

5. The grand finale! I don’t need to tell you how to do this, really. The world is your orgasm oyster. Have a fire hose showdown if you like. One thing to remember is that if the guy on bottom gets off first, I hear tell having a big dick in his ass for an extended time after can be uncomfortable. Again, I can’t verify this personally and I can’t ask my husband. I also can’t take part in a fire hose showdown. Robbed again. Why else do you think I write this stuff? It’s the closest I can cum, er come, I’m afraid. 😥

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There you have it! Now go out there and write some hot manlove. Who knows? You could be a natural! If you don’t feel comfortable doing it yourself, feel free to comment below for a chance to win my e-book “Forever is Now” and I’ll be happy to provide it for you.

In your comment, you may tell me your favorite 80’s song/movie or must-have male/male gettin’-it-on accouterments I missed. Fire at will, contest open all over the universe, and don’t forget to check out all the other blogs and comment like a mother-fucker. Every comment on every stop gets you one step closer to the $50 gift card giveaway. I don’t make the rules, I just play by them (yeah, right).

It’s like the backwards blog! I don’t even try to make you read my post before you get to the goods!

Actually, I will make you comment. And I’ll be bikini brief, I promise. All comments for all participating blogs will be shuffled around in a random name picker (not to be confused with a random nose picker). So comment on all the blogs at the top for the best chance to kick ass at winning!

But first, a word from your sponsor.

We have two grand prizes. #1 is a Kindle Fire. #2 is a $50 Amazon.com gift certificate. Not too shabby. And you can win an e-book from me right here, baby! Fantabulous!

Hold up. Wait and read what I have to say! We’re talking words of wisdom passed down from generation to generation, folks. In the spirit of romance and hot summer lovin’, I had an old family proverb pop into mind. It goes a little something like this:

When the weather’s hot and sticky,

That’s no time to dunk the dicky.

When the frost is on the pumpkin,

That’s the time for dicky dunkin’.

Thanks, Dad and Grandpa! So while it may be wicked-hot and hard to imagine dicky dunkin’ of any variety, fall is coming (and for you G.O.T. fans, winter isn’t far behind). To celebrate, I’m giving away a copy of my latest release, Star Catcher. I never do this—goes against my personal company policy, so be very excited. Star Catcher is set in the fall, and despite this heat wave we’re having, I can just imagine a bracing breeze as my heroine, Stella, races through a corn maze to escape otherworldly beasts. And I want to share it with y’all.

So, comment, and I’ll shove your deets into the random name generator thingy, and if everything doesn’t get sucked into a voracious black hole, I’ll pick a winner. It just may be you. 🙂

*****

Excerpt from Star Catcher:

Another overgrown shape materialized to Stella’s left. It sniffed the air and turned alarmingly in her direction.

It was all the impetus she needed. Stella turned and ran from the hounds of hell.

The stalks beat against her. They stung her bare skin and grasped her hair like bony fingers as she forced her body through the canes. She dug a path through the dry material, raking the plants with her hands to make way for her body, only to be slapped in the face as she split the rows. Stella ran like never before. In high school, she had competed in plenty of races on the track team. The act of pushing her body to the limit was not foreign to her.

This race was far worse, though. The stakes were life or death.

Fire speared through her chest as she sprinted between the scratchy vegetation with nothing more than moonlight to guide her. Rising hysteria made her breathing more labored than running alone. The thing could hear her crashing through the corn and could detect her scent. There was no point in trying to be stealthy. All she could do was move as swiftly as possible.

The pale moonlight grew brighter up ahead, and she forced herself not to slow.

Nearly safe. Get out of this nightmarish maze. Almost there.

Stella broke from the corn. A breath of unbelievable freedom nearly choked her, cool and remarkable, before she slammed into a wall of glass. Her arm had been pumping upward and took the brunt of the blow, but the barrier was completely unexpected. The breath gushed out of her like a released balloon.

She lay stunned in the damp grass, shaking and hyperventilating. The blades rose tall around her, and she was tempted to stay down; to hide. Who could see her here?

But that thing could smell her.

She wasn’t safe until her car door closed, and she was locked inside. Then she could relax. Stella managed to pull up on all fours and crawl over to the invisible wall. She reached a hand into what should have been open air and was met with ice-cold resistance.

What the hell?

It felt like plastic. She noticed a faint give and recoil as she pushed hard against the wall. It was like an invisible force field. Her stomach did a somersault.

Stay calm. If you lose your head, you’re done. Get to the entrance of the maze. Head right, follow the wall. You can get out of this, but you need to move now.

The voice in her head gave the command and she obeyed. Stella sprang up. Fight-or-flight hormones surged through her, and she began to run at top speed along the edge of the field. Her hand trailed along the smooth, cool barrier, waiting for a break in the enclosure. Sooner or later she would find the exit—that, or a dog-monster. Or maybe she’d run straight into the freaky sideshow chicks who had imprisoned them. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going down without a struggle.

My five-year old guilted me into stepping away from my computer when I took him to a playground the other day. Not another kid in sight, I was enlisted to play. Damn. And I had editing to do, too. But he told me to hurry up and hop on his ship before the hot lava got me, and I had no choice but to leap onto a ladder. I was already warming up to this game as I asked, “Ship? Is it a space ship?”

“Yeah!” he answered, sensing my weakness and striking the killing blow without a blink. That’s my boy. He’s also great at calling me his “sweet, beautiful mama,” when he wants something. Totally works, even though I see through him, the little scoundrel. Anyway, he launched into how we were on an inhospitable planet—okay, not those exact words—but he describes the lava, which goes from the boiling hot to the freezing cold variety after I ask which planet we’re on, and he says Pluto.

Now, the kid knows Pluto’s damn cold. He’s also well aware that it isn’t considered a planet now. But, like his mother, he refuses to give credence to whomever decided to revoke its planetary status. It’s BS, we tell ya! Our Pluto planet will kick your unremarkable Kuiper Belt object‘s atmosphere any day of its 90,720-day year!

Anyway, we high-tailed-it off Pluto and blasted to a new planet where we put on our imaginary space gear before heading off to explore its primary-colored landscape and vaguely familiar rubbery terrain. We were sent running back to the ship when a killer storm whipped up in the form of deadly acid rain. And just for the record, I’m totally using that in my next sci-fi book. I just need to figure out the logistics, but the boy’s got some solid gold ideas!

What could have been a lackluster editing session while the kid went up and down the slide a few times between bouts of whining about being bored, became a role-playing, brainstorming session, complete with quality time with the youngest. He has since suckered me into our space game on a number of occasions. Not too long ago, I made him drive me to Saturn where I planted dill. A Shnozzle Bozzle, who resembled his older sister, attacked us, but eventually we befriended the odd creature and took it back to Earth with us.

Odds are, the Shnozzle Bozzle won’t make it into my next book. Well, maybe a horror short where its introduction to Earth results in massive casualties to the indigenous species. But my point is that we need to be receptive to inspiration. We can’t tune out the world and hide in our little writing caves hoping to come up with something extraordinary—lightning can’t strike us there!

Get out. Explore. Have some fun, because living is the best way to get your brain chewing on the possibilities.

And if you hit a road block, find a five-year old. They can help you remember what imagination is all about. If nothing else, it will probably be fun!

The Sci-fi Romance Brigade is hosting a fantastic blog hop with kick-ass prizes!

And I’ve been sitting on this cover for far too long. Can you blame me? Who wouldn’t want to sit on this? Sit and spin, that is.

Coming June 3rd from Liquid Silver Books!

Lord, that’s huge! Just the way I like it.

Observe, the blurb:

Lust flares hot and bright when Stella Aims’ world collides with the gorgeous and mysterious Noth Zobor. The tall dark stranger doesn’t speak a word of English, but Stella is happy to teach him everything she knows, including a crash course in the universal language of love. Their passion burns down to sweet and smoldering before Stella’s reality is completely spun around.

People aren’t always what they seem—but what if they aren’t even human?

Concerned that Noth’s been lying to her, Stella searches for him and walks into a trap straight out of a nightmare. When she wakes, she finds the real deception was far worse than she ever suspected, and her lover is not at all what he seems. Forgiving him might be the easiest thing Stella has to do, because getting out alive and saving her fellow humans from captivity and experimentation will be the toughest challenge of her life.

Can lovers from two different planets overcome forces that push them galaxies apart? When the fate of two species hangs in the balance, love may be the only thing strong enough to save them all and give hope for a new future.

Okay, so, in case my title isn’t enough of a disclaimer, here’s another one: I am so far from a photo manipulating pro that it’s laughable. Why am I writing this post? Well, on the off-chance someone out there is even less skilled/experienced than I in the fine art of photo manipulation, I may be able to help that person (and in the process feel superior).

Also, I just needed a post idea, so if you don’t like it, walk away, Renée.

On to the meat and potatoes…

The other day I spent hours (in which I should have been sending my fictional boys off to a baseball game, or some such nonsense) altering photos for my Facebook banner. Let me just interject here and say that I really mostly hate Facebook. Okay, so, anyway, I went to my old standby, Photobucket, to do some messing around.

Now, Photobucket seems to want to be a contender in the photo-altering biz, I tell ya. Old, user-friendly (after a learning curve I’d rather not discuss) Photobucket is gone. Enter the Beta. It’s still got the basic functions, so thankfully I did not have to learn anything too new. And their fun little photo enhancing functions from a short while back that NEVER worked for me, now do. So cool! It does get locked up on occasion (or maybe that is my sweet little HP mini which has entered into the ripe old age of three).

Enough talk! Show us the damn pictures, Kimber!

Easy, killer. Easy. Your wish is my command.

Okay, so here is the banner thingy I’m using on FB. Yes, it is top-heavy (like me, RDRR), but the reason for that is I had to crop it to fit in FB. I also had to squeeze my text up in the middle a bit (yes, these are technical terms and shut your laughing face!) so my smaller left-hand-side-picture didn’t cover it.

See? Here is my FB page so you know what I’m talking about. Feel free to friend me while you’re there, or poke me, or click “Like” on this stupid page, or leave a burning bag of dog crap on my FB doorstep. Whatever. I really don’t care.

It’s a little crooked, but you get what you pay for, right? Wanna see my original picture I took myself, right before a thunderstorm at dusk? Okay!

As you can see, it was a pretty sweet shot to begin with because I have a fancy-shmancy camera and I got lucky. Real photographers could be tearing me a new one right now. Leave it in the comment box or tell your story walking.

But, I’m sure you notice the coloration is a bit darker and spookier. After clicking edit, I chose “effect” and just tested a bunch out. Then, for the super-coolouter space feel I went with “overlay” and “space.” There are tons to choose from. My rainbow heart was in “stickers,” and I happen to think my dripping come font is both apropos and classy.

Well, that concludes today’s crappy lesson. I have to go teach Sunday school now. Keep it cool, kids.